Morning Rain

I’ve sat here staring at this picture for half an hour, wondering how I decided to leave the house on the scooter this morning when the weather was already cold and dreary with a forecast promising even more.  Morning rain holds a power over me that defies logic and shuttles conventional judgement into a mental box shielded from common sense.  Who departs on two wheels in the rain when they have a choice to travel otherwise?

Walking the dog before breakfast I was already categorizing the rain as mist, a minor variation of atmosphere that’s more decorative than substantive. With eyes on the sky, a mottled mix of greys and whites with an occasional glow of light where the sun threatened to show itself, I had decided I was going to ride to work just to see how the light painted the world.

Riding down our road I couldn’t help but notice the low clouds laying across the mountainside or wonder how mysterious the forest roads would be.  The clock had not yet reached 7am when I turned away from work and on towards Rothrock State Forest.

Boy Scouts, biology students and characters in post-apocalypse movies all know the significance of a lichen on a tree — an indicator of north.  All rugged scooter and motorcycle adventure riders should store this away for the day they’re stranded, alone, in the woods with wolves, bears and zombies about.

What’s not apparent in the picture is the cold.  In my excitement to ride in the rain I neglected to fully evaluate the 42F air mixed with what would become a steady rain.  Factor that with only a black t-shirt under my riding jacket which now has no zipper, only snaps to hold it closed but allowing copious quantities of frigid air to attack not to mention no ability at all to repel moisture anymore.

Still, it was a great day to ride.

At some point while riding in the rain a part of my brain asks, “How miserable do you want to be?”.  It’s one thing to ride in soaking we clothes on the outside, but once the water starts to penetrate towards tender flesh it’s a different ballgame.  I ride a lot in the cold but I do not like being cold.  Lack of attention leads to some painful miles.

There was a moment, very brief, where I considered stopping and putting on the Rev’It rainsuit that lives in the topcase, unopened and unused.  But that would make too much sense.  It’s not raining hard enough yet.

Duty calls and I need to ride to work — for real.  It’s 7:30am, I’m wet, cold, and trying to rationalize taking the day off to get wetter and colder.  That’s how my brain works in the morning.  I’m glad I don’t live in a wilderness or I would probably have died along an empty road somewhere long ago.

On the 10 mile ride to the office I can’t stop thinking about how cold my hands are.  The dampness and air seeping through my gloves have reduced my fingers to thick, painful nubs of near numb meat sticks.  There must be a dozen traffic lights between this last photo stop and the office.  At each light I plan to warm my fingers a bit on the headlight, a brief respite from the all to familiar hand torture I go through every season.  And my luck, every light was green save one which provided a mere  15 second tease of head on my left hand as it pushed itself against the headlight.

And so it goes, a ride in morning rain.